Millennium Walk On By
by Mandi5
Summary: There are many layers to Peter Watts. This is one more. It explores his history and how, and why, he joined the Millennium Group. Contains adult situations. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**Walk On By.**

A Millennium fan fic

By Mandi Sheridan

DISCLAIMER: _Frank Black & Family, Peter Watts, and Millennium are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting Company, the other characters are my own. This is a work of fan fiction only and no profit will be made from it._

Fort Collins Police Dept, Colorado.

Nov 1998.

"_I belong to another, it wouldn't look so good, _

_to know someone I'm not supposed to know._

_Just walk on by, wait on the corner,_

_I love you but we're_ _strangers when we meet."_

Peter Watts glanced towards the familiar face. The words of an old country song playing over and over in his head as they had done so all week. It happened every time he saw her, when their eyes would meet and she would stop whatever she was doing and just look at him. It was never much more than a fleeting glance, she would bite her lip then turn away, back to her work. He thought he could see a hunger there in her eyes, that matched the hunger in him, but it might only be his imagination. The song was beginning to annoy him, but it refused to leave his head.

Such a familiar face, even though it had been years since he had last met her. Those piercing blue eyes, and the white-blonde hair that gave one the impression that she had maybe Scandinavian ancestry. But he knew she was not a natural blonde. Though how he knew this he would very be reluctant to say. The thought brought the slightest trace of a smile to his lips.

Carol Main; a face and a memory from his past. He had wondered about her often over the years, since the last time their paths had crossed. That had been three, almost four, years ago, and the times before that, way back in `88, then in `90. Their first meeting in 1985 was a memory he preferred not to recall; the circumstances surrounding it still so real, so terrible. A nightmare that only receded, that never left him entirely.

She hadn't changed and he wondered if she could see much of a change in him. Probably. Hell, maybe she's even forgotten, but somehow he doubted that.

He walked over to her as she stood chatting with two cops by the coffee machine in the squad office. She looked up and their eyes met. "_Just walk on by -" _Maybe he should at that. But he knew that he couldn't. _"Wait on the corner -"_

He slid some coins into the machine, and waited for the coffee to pour. He stirred the contents with the end of his pen then took a sip and looked at her. Something about the lingering glance they exchanged made the two local officers stop their chatter and step away, realising they were suddenly the intruders.

"Peter," she said.

"Carol," he replied.

"How've you been?" she asked.

"Good. I've been good," he nodded. "And you?"

Jesus, she thought. Small talk. Is that all we can do now, make small talk? When she just wanted to kiss him.

"Oh, I've been fine," her voice was casual. Her emotions were not. "I've been busy. Real busy." I'll bet he's still married, she thought. Of course he is. I could never be that lucky.

"It's good to get this case cleared up. You still in Oklahoma City?" he asked and she nodded. "Then how come you got called up here?" I wonder if she still remembers, he thought.

"The MO is very similar to three murders we've had over the past four months, we're still working on them, but getting nowhere and we thought this might have been the same killer, but it's not," she sipped at her coffee. "Anyway, this guy's been caught, thankfully."

Peter nodded. "I could take some time on it, if you want? The Millennium Group has excellent resources that could be of assistance to you."

"I think I'll just take you up on that," she replied. "I'll organise it when I get back. Thank you."

She concentrated hard on stirring her coffee with a plastic spoon, not knowing what else to say, as memories of the last time they parted surfaced uncomfortably in her mind. Their parting had not been on the best of terms. She had wanted more from him. Wanted what he could not or would not give her, and she had been hurt and angry, and so had he.

An almost uneasy silence now hung in the air. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but she was afraid to speak. Peter, she thought, wanting him all over again. Don't waste this precious time with small talk about cases or killers. She had been so proud of the way she had managed to keep her feelings under control all week, but now they surfaced and they were as powerful as ever; exactly the way they had been the last time, and all the times before that. She wondered if he felt the same.

"Can I see you later?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she responded just as quietly.

* * *

Welcome Inn

Fort Collins

6:00pm

Peter rapped on the door. She opened it almost immediately, smiling to see him standing there, in jeans and a light brown sweater. He had shaved and showered, and still damp from the shower, had rushed to her room. She breathed in the smell of his aftershave, a different scent than that which she had remembered he had worn the last time. But then maybe she had just forgotten it as the years had gone by. She welcomed him in.

"I thought by now you'd be ready," he remarked.

"Just heading for a shower," she replied, pulling off her boots and socks. "I won't be long. Anyway, you're early."

He caught her by the hand, preventing her from walking away. "There's a bad snow storm coming in and all flights out of here have been cancelled. We could be grounded here, for a day or so," he told her, still holding her hand. "I just wanted to let you know."

Carol looked down at her hand in his. A smile played on her lips. "So we're stuck here, in this Godforsaken mountain town? In this motel?" she asked.

"Looks that way," he answered, pulling her closer to him, his arms closing around her waist. "I hear it's even bad in Boulder and up in Cheyenne."

She put her arms around his neck and for a moment they just stood there like that, nothing said, no other movement, just the warmth and the desire. _Wait on the corner, I love you, but -_

He kissed her and she responded willingly. For a second an image of Barbara and the girls waiting at home flashed in his mind. But they were another life. Barbara was another love and he pushed the image of his wife and three teenage daughters away allowing the memories he had of Carol to come flooding back, and they were just like last time, and the times before that. Their mouths locked together and he tasted her. It was the same as always, this desire he felt, always wanting her, loving her, but not loving her. Two people who were strangers, yet lovers and sometimes friends, always destined to meet, love, and go their separate ways. As they would do so again after this. But for the short while they were together they would love one another. Another song slipped into his mind - "_Always wanting you, yet never having you, makes it hard to face tomorrow, when I know I'll wake up wanting you again."_ But this time, this night he would have her, though they would part again and he would spend many tomorrow's wanting her.

She broke away, reluctantly it seemed, and smiled up at him.

"I really have to shower," she whispered, nodding towards the bathroom, and slipping out of his arms. But he caught her again, and pulled her back, kissing her more fiercely this time, his hands tugging at her clothes.

"We could shower together," he grinned. "I don't mind taking another one."

A gleam shone in her eyes, making them brighter than ever. She took his hand and pulled him towards the bathroom.

He struggled out of his clothes as she began to do the same. Naked, he stood in front of her. She licked her lips at the sight of his lean, muscular body, the faint traces of summer tan, the small area of fine hair on the centre of his chest, the more abundant, darker hair farther down. She smiled as she saw how hard he was, and the sight of him increased the old familiar desire in her as she peeled off her own jeans.

Peter grabbed her again and she began to laugh as he kissed her neck, his moustache tickling the soft, sensitive skin, bringing back more intimate memories, ones that almost made her blush, then he reached around and unhooked the clasp on her bra, taking it off her and throwing it somewhere in the direction of the bed. He grinned as he slipped a finger into the waistband of her panties and began to pull them down.

"No you don't!" Carol exclaimed. "Be patient, lemme shower first." She slapped at his hand.

"I can't wait."

"Well, you'll have to."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, but I get to wash your back."

She opened the door, and instead of turning on the shower, went to the bath and began to run the water into it, looking over her shoulder as she did so. "You can wash my front too, if you've a mind."

Peter licked his own lips at this prospect.

* * *

The bath was big enough for two and Carol lay back against his chest, luxuriating in the warmth of the water and the comfort of his arms around her. Peter planted soft kisses on her neck while his soaped hands gently caressed her stomach, working his way slowly, enticingly up towards her breast. She moaned as he cupped it and began to massage it, the soap making his hand slippery. Her nipple hardened and his touch grew firmer. She closed her eyes, and half-turned around, searching for his lips. Her mouth found what it was looking for and she kissed him, her heart aching with longing for him.

Peter's arms encircled her and held her close to him. "I love you Carol," he whispered. "God help me, I know it's wrong but I love you. I can't help myself."

She looked up at him, the tone of his voice disturbing her, sending a shiver of unease through her. But there was nothing there in his grey eyes to frighten her, only love, though that was frightening enough.

She touched his lips with her fingertip. "Shhh," she said. "Don't spoil this, Peter. Please."

He closed his eyes for a second, then it was as though he was reaching a decision for he seemed to nod to himself and then she felt his arms tighten around her again. "I won't," he answered. " But you have to understand that I -"

"I do understand," she chided. "I know that this is all we'll ever have. I can accept it, if you can."

"It's not fair to you."

"Life's not fair, Peter. Never has been. Never will be. I have loved you right from the start, but I knew back then you were married. I accept that. I know that no matter how much you return the love I have for you, it will never be quite enough. I can live with this. It's better than nothing."

"But you deserve more," he frowned.

"But I want you, only you, the best back-washer in the Pacific Northwest," she answered, tilting her head and smiling at him, trying to alleviate the seriousness of the moment. "Now wash my back like you promised you would? Before this water gets too cold!"

* * *

She wanted to order up some room service and stay in but Peter insisted they go out. She grumbled as she dressed in a warm sweater and jeans. "It's snowing for God's sake! There's a frigging blizzard out there! Why can't we stay in here where it's warm and cosy under the bedclothes?"

Peter sat on the edge of the bed watching her, admiring her shape, her figure still slim, athletic, enticing. He was tempted to agree with her. He caught her hand and pulled her down beside him, his arm across her shoulder. He smiled at her but said nothing.

"What?" she asked, seeing the unspoken words in his eyes.

He reached up and pushed away a strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes then gently kissed her forehead.

"I want to take you out tonight. For a meal, a walk maybe. Anything. I dunno," he shrugged his shoulders. "I just don't want you to think that I'm only here to have sex with you."

She grinned. "Hey, all you gotta do is tell me that! You don't have to drag me out into the cold to prove it."

Peter sighed. "I know, but I want to."

Carol watched him carefully. There was something in his demeanour that silenced her. So serious, she thought, almost as though he really loves me but he's fighting it. She almost mentioned this to him but stopped herself, afraid of what he might say.

"Okay," she gave in. "Let's go out."

* * *

Peter was true to his word. He wined her and dined her, then insisted they take a walk. She had complained, but her complaint was half-hearted. The snow had stopped and although it was bitterly cold and the night sky hung heavy with cloud, it was still a perfect evening for a walk. They found themselves on the outskirts of town, near a small park with a frozen pond in the centre. He leaned back against a tree and pulled her close to him. Carol snuggled in to him, taking his warmth, warming him in return. She kissed his cold lips but he remained impassive. She looked at him and in the glow of a nearby light she saw the laughter in his eyes.

"Are you kissing me because you like kissing me, or because you're trying to keep warm?" he asked.

"You really want an honest answer?" She kissed him again.

"Mmmm, yes. No," he laughed, returning her kiss. She pressed closer to him, feeling his hardness beneath his jeans. Her hand reached down towards him. He inhaled sharply as she touched him, rubbing him slowly. "You're cruel," he whispered.

"I'm cruel?" she laughed. "You dragged me out here, when we could have been warm and naked in bed."

Peter's hand slid underneath her coat, found its way under her sweater and moved up towards her breast. She gasped at his cold hand, but did not try to stop him. She had no bra on and he cupped her breast and squeezed gently, his thumb rolling over the nipple.

"I want you so badly," he murmured in her ear. "I want to spend the rest of the night making love to you, slowly, to explore you, to kiss you all over. To make you moan and beg me to stop, or not to stop, maybe."

"Then let's go back," she replied, wanting everything he said, and more.

"Your room or mine?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter," she shrugged her shoulders.

His was closer. He no sooner had the door opened and they were inside and in each other's arms.

Neither of them could remember exactly how they came to be undressed. She had an image of fumbling, struggling with buttons and zippers as they pulled each other's clothes off. Laughing at their clumsiness. Then she was lying on the bed and he was inside her, his body on hers, his hands caressing her, no longer clumsy but experienced, familiar as though it had only been three days since they had last made love, not three years.

* * *

"Peter?" she said his name just as he was drifting off to sleep.

"Mmmm?" he mumbled.

"Peter?" she spoke his name again

"What?" he asked, his eyelids flickering.

"Peter, I, uh - took the test this morning," Barbara Watts said quietly as she sat down beside her husband. Their two daughters, Erin and Taylor were finally tucked up in bed, having been excited and playful all evening now that their father was back home. They had finally gone over to sleep after Peter had spent a good deal of time reading them their favourite bedtime stories, and now she could sit down and talk to him about what was on her mind.

"Test? What test?" he asked, trying to remember what she was referring to. He was relaxing in front of the television, his intention had been to watch the news, but the comfortable sofa, the warmth of the fire, and the glass of whisky he had almost finished had lulled him. He had just been on the brink of drifting off, his head leaning back against the cushion, his eyes heavy, the glass tilting precariously on the arm of the sofa. But her words brought him fully awake and he sat up straight beside her. He took another sip of whisky. For some reason he felt he might need it.

With a smile Barbara took his hand in hers. This was so typical of him when he had been working a lot. The things he dealt with sometimes pushed the ordinary day to day activities and problems out of his mind. She watched as a frown creased his brow, that sharp mind travelling back to their last conversation five days ago, trying to recall what she had said. A look of loving concern momentarily came over his face to be replaced by a grin as he suddenly remembered.

"You mean the pregnancy test?" he asked.

Barbara nodded and took a deep breath. "It was positive. I'm five weeks pregnant."

"Well of course it was positive," Peter laughed, delightedly, and put his arms around her. "After all we've been getting up to recently how could you not be pregnant?"

Barbara grinned and snuggled closer to him, entwining her fingers in his, drawing them up to her lips and gently kissing them. She knew he had only wanted two kids, they had both wanted only two kids, but with Erin almost three and Taylor just over a year old now a good deal of their conversations had gradually turned around to the possibility of another child. She knew Peter wanted a son, and so did she, but either way she was happy, a boy would be nice but a third girl would suit her just fine too.

* * *

Peter rapped softly on the bathroom door, but the only response was a groan and more retching. He rapped again.

"You okay?" he asked.

Barbara moaned her reply. "Yeah I'm okay, just give me a minute to clean my teeth."

When she finally came out of the bathroom she was very pale. He handed her a tumbler of water, which she sipped at, praying it would stay down. She took another sip. So far, so good. She looked at him wryly, "I love our two daughters Peter, and I love this one inside me," she gently patted her stomach, now swollen and heavy. "But I do so hate being pregnant. I hate being sick and fat, and ugly and everything."

"You're not fat or ugly. You're so beautiful," he kissed her, his grey eyes full of love.

Barbara grinned at him, the nausea had passed and she was feeling fine now. She playfully ran her hands through his thinning hair. "Yeah right, and you're not going bald!"

* * *

Peter gripped his wife's hand, holding it tightly as another contraction coursed through her. She gritted her teeth and moaned in pain.

He heard from a distance the doctor encouraging her, "Push, Barbara, you're nearly there, just a few more minutes."

He whispered his own words of encouragement as the contractions started again, her fingers digging into his hand.

And then it was over and he was watching through a film of his own tears as their baby was placed in Barbara's arms. And within him, despite the joy he was feeling, a small part of him died when he heard the doctor's words, "Congratulations Barbara, Peter, you have another daughter."

To Be Continued.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Syracuse, NY. FBI Office

Nov 1985 4:40pm

It was Peter himself who took the call, only half listening as he noted down the details. The location was about an hour and ten minutes drive away, an hour and forty-five if one took into consideration the rush hour traffic. He cursed silently as he looked at his watch and glanced around the near-empty office. He had promised Barbara he would be home early tonight. Another promise broken, but what choice had he? What he did was ultimately for her and their three daughters.

* * *

Onondaga Lake, North Shore

The two FBI agents stood almost at attention as their boss walked towards them. The local cops, noticing this, glanced around to see who had appeared.

"Who's he?" the police woman asked her partner. She watched the tall handsome man in the dark suit, noting his air of authority, his coolness, his confident stride. Not bad looking, she thought.

"Assistant Director Watts," the agent replied for him, "I called him in on this."

He walked over towards Peter.

"Sir," he nodded respectfully.

"What have we got?" Peter asked.

"A body. It's inside that," he pointed towards the cool box.

Peter frowned and stepped over to the waters edge. Around the item in question stood a team of police divers, other local police officers and the forensic teams ready to begin their task.

"Two kids, fishing over by the pier snagged it with a line. They pulled it ashore and opened it," he grimaced, his face becoming pale again. "It's uh – it's pretty gruesome, sir."

Peter smiled, the agent was young, inexperienced. No doubt he hadn't seen much yet of the more gruesome aspects of the job. But when he himself drew near and looked into the box, his attitude changed. In all of his experiences, all of the bodies he had gazed upon, bodies torn and mutilated beyond the comprehension of average citizens, innocents and guilty alike, those who had met their deaths at the hands of others, nothing he had ever witnessed, no body he had ever looked at, could have prepared him for this moment. He felt dizzy, the world began to spin, then to shrink, smaller and smaller, until there was only him and it, this horror.

He fought to turn away, yet he felt compelled to stare, as if he could stare it away, and stop this nightmare from existing. But the image remained, pathetic, terrible, an abomination. In his mind the sight of his three daughters flashed before him. His three babies, his two toddlers, and his youngest baby, Chelsea, now almost a year old and already beginning to take her first hesitant steps.

He stepped back from the edge, and sanity and reason began to return. He looked at the young agent.

"My God. Oh my God," it was all he could utter. The agent was still pale and Peter knew that his own face reflected that paleness and the shock he could see in this young man standing before him. "My God," he whispered again.

Peter took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, fighting the nausea, and allowing the professionalism to take over.

"Tell me," he demanded of the agent. "Tell me quickly, right from the beginning. What's going on here? Where are the kids that found it? Does anybody know where it – where this came from?"

"Well, like I said sir, those two kids were fishing and they hooked it and pulled it in. When they saw what was inside, they ran and called the cops. Apart from that no one has any ideas, but it's been here a while, by the state of it."

"Have forensics taken a look yet?"

"No; they're going to take it back to the morgue and do that there. Before the crowds gather," he indicated several people standing just out of hearing, craning their necks to see what all the fuss was about. A couple of TV crews had also arrived and were setting up camp, already using their zoom lenses to get a closer look.

"Okay, get everyone out of here as soon as possible. No press statements, but get the names and addresses of all the watchers."

"Why?" the agent asked. "They're just being nosy, sir."

"Just do it," Peter ordered, and turned and walked slowly back to his car.

For a few moments he could only sit there, shivering, but not only from the cold. Although his mind felt numb, he could see clearly what he had just seen inside that box. He saw himself opening it, peering in -

With a gasp he sat up. In the darkness he was disorientated. The dream was already fading. Though it never left completely, it was now down to a level he could, and had lived with.

"What's wrong?" she switched on the bedside lamp and rolled over towards him.

Peter looked at her. For a minute he thought it was Barbara, then he came fully awake and saw Carol lying beside him. He shook his head.

"Bad dream?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Carol watched him. His face was pale and he trembled slightly. His eyes were wide open, sleep long gone now. She had seen him like this before and knew what to do.

She touched his arm. "The same one?"

He nodded and she drew him down beside her, but he pulled away and got out of the bed. She watched him as he poured a generous amount of whiskey into the tumbler he had been using earlier. She expected him to return to her but instead he went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Carol sighed and leaned back against the pillow. She glanced at his watch on the bedside table. Two am it read. The last time she looked it had been just after one. They had made love all evening, intimately renewing the memories they had of each other, then had fallen asleep, she lying in his arms. Her sleep had been peaceful, her mind and body satiated by his attentions. His sleep, it seemed, had not been so peaceful.

She heard the flush of the toilet but he remained in the bathroom. She lay there debating whether or not to go and check on him. His nightmares, rare though they were, were a familiar experience to her and she wondered if he had them at home, and how did his wife deal with them? Or did he somehow hide them from her?

She opened the bathroom door and found him sitting on the edge of the bath.

"You'll get cold," she said.

"This'll keep me warm," he responded, raising the glass to his lips and taking another mouthful.

"I'll keep you warmer. Come back to bed."

"In a minute."

She knelt in front of him. "Are you okay?"

Peter smiled at her. She was wearing his shirt and held it closed across her breasts. Hiding herself from him. He gently fingered the material, pushing the shirt open again, wanting to see more of her. "Kinda spoils the evening, doesn't it?"

"No," she replied. "Come back to bed."

"Tell me about the dream?" she asked as she lay once more in his arms, her head resting on his chest. He linked his fingers with hers, his other hand holding the tumbler, now filled again. Every now and then he would take a sip from it.

"I don't have to tell you," Peter replied. "It's the same as always. You were there too, you know what happened."

He thought back to the first time he had seen her. He was sitting in his car, still trembling, still trapped in the image of the baby's corpse in the cooler box. She was leaning in through the window of a squad car parked nearby, rummaging about for something. Despite the horror he had just witnessed, the horror all around him, or maybe because of it, he could not fail to notice the curve of her backside in the tight black uniform trousers as she leaned into the car. She stood up then and he watched her as she took a cigarette out of the pack she had fished from the glove compartment. She glanced around before lighting it and he called out to her, startling her. He asked her for a cigarette and that was how they met.

"Yeah, I know what happened. I was there too," she echoed his words. "Maybe that's the problem, Peter. You're always gonna associate me with that time. With the baby in that box." That's why he'll never love me completely, she thought.

He kissed the top of her head. "No. It's not like that. You kept me going back then. Kept me sane."

"Peter. Have you ever talked to anyone about it? Professionally, I mean."

"Not really. When I quit the Bureau, I merely told them it was for personal reasons. They did ask me about it generally, but that was all. I thought I could forget on my own, but I guess I couldn't, and I couldn't tell Barbara about it. We were going through a really bad patch. Well, you know that. Hell, you were there. When I couldn't be with her I came to you."

* * *

Dec 1985

11:50pm

Peter breathed a sigh of relief to see the house in darkness. He went to the kitchen and without turning on a light poured himself a large whiskey.

"I thought you would have come straight up to bed," Barbara turned on the light and stood there in the doorway.

He watched her for a moment, trying to gauge her mood. "Just wanted to unwind a bit or I won't be able to sleep," he took another mouthful, noting her raised eyebrow. The raw whiskey burned his throat. He was drinking far too much these days. Far too much. He waited for her to point that fact out to him once again. But this time she didn't.

"You're working too hard, sweetheart, that's why you can't sleep. You're the Assistant Director for God's sake. Why can't you delegate? That's your job." Barbara took the glass from him and set it down on the table. She took his hand as though to pull him toward her. "Come to bed. I know exactly what you need to unwind," she smiled at him, but stopped when she felt the resistance in him.

"What's wrong, Peter?" she asked, a note of worry and desperation creeping into her voice.

"Nothing," he looked away.

Barbara bit back the angry words that threatened to spill forth. Another argument was the last thing she wanted right now. There had been too many these past few weeks.

"Go on now. I'll be up soon," he reached for the whiskey again.

But it was almost three o'clock and several drinks later before he finally went to bed, falling asleep immediately, the alcohol blotting out the horror of it all. One last go, she had said to him, and he had agreed. Fourth time lucky. It will be a boy, I promise, she had said. But now he didn't think so.

Not until I find this killer.

"Oh, dear God," he had spoken aloud in the darkness of the kitchen. "Let me find this man, this monster, this evil. I will give up anything, make any sacrifice You ask of me. Just let me catch him and bring him to justice."

Then the days merged into weeks and his prayer was not answered. Yet the vow to give up the chance of the son he had for so long wanted in exchange for catching the killer began to take root in his soul and it became the creed by which he began to live. He became so certain that if he made this sacrifice his efforts would be rewarded. But he sacrificed something else as well. Before his eyes, he could see his relationship with his wife grow more and more strained and they slipped further and further apart. He was aware of this and it broke his heart and he knew it was breaking her heart too, but he could no more stop it than he could stop the hunt. She had been his strength for so long and he sacrificed this also.

Despite her pleas, her anger and her sadness he turned away from her, not only emotionally, but physically too. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have made love to her.

And then there was Carol. His escape from it all.

* * *

1998

"What about the Millennium Group?" she asked, bring him back to the present.

Peter looked at her and his voice grew wary, guarded. "What about them?"

"You told me that was why you joined."

"They taught me about the nature of evil. Something they knew I wanted to learn more about. To try to understand what kind of evil existed that could murder a baby, a tiny, innocent little boy and cut off his head and his arms and dump him in a lake inside a cool box. But, despite all I've learned, all I have come to understand, I don't think it's possible to ever truly figure out why these things occur."

He offered her a sip of whisky, holding the glass to her lips, and she took it gratefully. Sleep had escaped them both now, but regardless of all he was saying she was content to be lying in his arms.

"I tried this for a while," he went on, indicating the glass. "When that failed I joined Millennium - the Group, and well, you know that I turned to God too, but in some ways He let me down as well."

"Mmmm," she responded, remembering the night he told her about the pact he made. She was one of only two people who knew of this, and the only one who knew how it had almost destroyed his marriage.

"And the pact you made?" Frank Black had asked him on the night Catherine Black had been kidnapped.

Peter had leaned back in his chair. He didn't think Frank had been listening to him. "I'm still keeping up my end, but I can't speak for Who I made it with. But I'm starting to wonder, if you can sacrifice one thing to get another? I know there's a price to be paid," he had told Frank, and he thought about his words now. A price to be paid. Yeah, he thought as he looked at her, there was always a price to be paid. He would hurt Carol to ensure Barbara's happiness, or he could hurt Barbara to give Carol what she most desired.

Carol was thoughtful, reliving her own memories of that time all those years ago. He had bummed a cigarette from her and they had ended up sitting in his car for a long while, smoking one after the other together. They had spoken little, both of them overwhelmed by the incident, and it seemed as though they didn't need to talk. There was something unspoken between them, some kind of understanding, almost a collective empathy for what they were both feeling. It was not an attraction at that point, that came later. Maybe if they had realised it, they could have stopped it there and then. But they had not been aware of it until it was too late.

Later, he arranged for her to be assigned to the task force working the case. He knew she had applied to the Bureau and would be going to Quantico in a few months time. The experience gained here, he told her, working in a liaison role between the local police and his agents would stand her in good stead. It wasn't long after that when their affair began.

To Be Continued


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

December 19th, 1985

Carol looked at the clock as she crawled out of bed, the hammering on the door persisting, refusing to be ignored. She flung it open, but the angry words died on her lips when she saw who was standing there. Swaying, barely able to stay on his feet. He had a bottle in his hand, and by the look of him he had already drank at least the same quantity. He was the last person she had expected.

"What the hell - Sir?" she glared at him, yet was mindful that he far outranked her and remained, despite her annoyance, respectful of that rank.

He squinted at her in the porch light. "Can I come in?" his voice was slurred. "Can I come in an` sleep on your couch. Please?"

Without waiting for a response he staggered past her and into the living room. His eyes focused on the couch and he fell on to it. Carol closed the door and followed him, tightening her robe around her, hiding her nakedness underneath. She frowned as she looked at him. Assistant Director Watts, a man she respected and admired, sat drunkenly on her couch. What right has he, she thought, to turn up here in this state?

He parked the bottle of scotch on her coffee table.

"Christmas present for you," he grinned. "Just need to find two glasses now."

"Where's your car, Mr. Watts? Did you drive here?" she frowned.

"My name's Peter, not Mr. Watts. Your name's Carol, not Officer Main. And no, I didn't drive," he raised his eyebrow and looked at her. "Took a cab. I'm not **_that_** stupid!"

She could have argued that point but chose not to.

"Wanted to see you," he sighed. "Can't go home."

"Why not?"

For a moment he just looked at her then took a deep breath. "Can't go home. I'm afraid to go home. She'd only want to - and want to ask me why-"

Oh great, Carol thought. Here comes the wife-doesn't-understand-me line.

But he had nothing more to say and slumped back on the couch, his hands over his face. Carol sat down opposite him, picked up the bottle and read the label. Good quality whiskey. But it was coffee he needed, not good quality scotch.

When she returned with the coffee he was curled up fast asleep. She set the mug down, found a blanket and placed it over him. She kissed him lightly on the forehead and returned to her own bed, leaving him to sleep it off. She tossed and turned for ages thinking about him lying on her couch. She wished he was sober and in bed with her. It was a long time before she fell asleep.

* * *

"Do you remember the first night?" she asked.

"Some of it. I remember I was very drunk and you were very angry."

"Not angry. Not really. Well, maybe just a little," she grinned up at him. "I was concerned about you, seeing you like that, so different from the man I was beginning to know and admire." And love, she thought. Yeah, even then I was falling in love with you.

"I don't remember how I got from the couch to your bed. But I do remember wanting to be close to you even then, although we didn't do anything."

She smiled. "But you soon made up for that."

"I know," he kissed her. "And that is one thing I will never regret." He offered her the glass again but she declined so he finished it himself. He placed it on the table and still keeping his arm around her, settled down in the bed. "Let's get some sleep. It's after four."

"Are you okay now?" she asked.

"I'm fine. Go to sleep."

* * *

She woke to find him gone. A note on the table. She smiled as she read the note, the words warming her heart -

**_Gone a'hunting for breakfast! Don't go away._**

**_Love you, Peter._**

She folded it up and placed it in the pocket of her jeans as if it were something to treasure. She showered and pulled on her jeans then fished her bra out from under the bed. She finished dressing and didn't bother drying her hair, preferring to leave it to dry naturally.

When he returned she was starving. Coffee and croissants were all he could find, and they wolfed them down.

Peter finished the last of the coffee. "Looks like we're stuck here tonight as well, sweetheart. I checked the airport and it's still closed. There's more snow forecast later today, so it's very unlikely it will re-open."

Carol smiled, delighted. "Well, that's just terrible news!"

"Mmmm," he grinned. "So what would you like to do?"

"We-ll, there's one or two things that spring to mind, but they'll keep for tonight. Right now, what I `d really love to do is go for a long, long walk."

He held her hand in his as they walked the length of the main street. When the snow began to fall they ducked into a coffee shop and lingered there for over an hour, all the while talking about their shared past and the times spent in between. Carol laughed as she remembered the second night he had stayed with her.

* * *

1985

Carol looked at him standing once more on her porch. Completely sober this time, and more than a little embarrassed. He had ignored her all that morning, but finally left a note on her desk saying he regretted his behaviour the previous night and could he take her to dinner by way of an apology. She crumpled up the note, threw it in the waste bin and carried on with her work. She was putting on her jacket to go home when she spied him watching her. As she walked out past him, she smiled and said in a low voice, so only he could hear. "It's a date. Eight o'clock my place. I think you know the address."

He was ten minutes late, but she forgave him and invited him in.

"How's your hangover?" she asked.

"I'll live," he muttered.

"Look, why don't we stay here? I can rustle up something, or we could order a take-out?"

He nodded and took her hand, once again apologising to her and she realised that his behaviour was totally out of character for him and outside of his experience. "It's this case," he said. "Getting to me more than I thought it would." Then he pulled her close to him and kissed her, surprising both of them. He held onto her hand tightly as though it was a lifeline.

"I want you. I want to make love to you," Peter kissed her again. "I know it's crazy. I'm married and I'll understand if you tell me to go to hell."

But she didn't. She led him into the bedroom where they undressed in silence and slipped into her bed. They were hesitant at first; both aware of the enormity of what was happening between them.

Then he was kissing her mouth, her neck, her breasts. His hands were tender as they touched her, stroked her, travelling slowly down over her thighs. She moaned softly as his hand crept between her legs, encouraging him to go farther. His finger penetrated her, marvelling at the soft wetness and he groaned as her own hand reached down for him. She held him firmly, massaging him with a rhythm that drove him wild. His mouth found hers again as she opened her legs and guided him towards her. For just a moment he hesitated above her then plunged into her. Carol gasped and almost came there and then, but he remained still within her, savouring the feeling, then he began, slowly at first, teasing her, going a little deeper with each stroke. She lifted her legs higher, locking them behind his back, forcing him farther inside her. His pace was faster now, harder. He felt his orgasm building. He couldn't have stopped now, even if he'd wanted to. She linked her arms around his neck and rose up to meet each thrust. As he climaxed he whispered her name and she came too, her body arching as wave after wave engulfed her, then gradually subsiding, leaving her breathless. Peter collapsed on top of her, his own breath coming in short gasps.

They lay like that for what seemed ages and she felt him growing soft. Then he rolled off her and lay on his side, his eyes watching her as he stroked her hair. "I think I love you," he said.

Carol put her finger to his lips. "Shhh. It's just a thought. It'll go away."

Peter smiled at her. "No. It's a whole lot more than that."

He fell asleep and she watched over him for a long while. His sleep was peaceful and she finally drifted off herself.

* * *

"I loved you from the very beginning," Peter said. "You didn't believe me when I told you, but I did. And I love you as much, maybe more, today. I hope you can believe that too."

"I do," Carol replied. "I almost didn't leave for Quantico because of you. The thought of being so far away from you terrified me. You were going through so much, I spent most of my time there worrying about you."

"With good reason," he joked.

"Yes, with good reason. You were in a bad way. The baby case had become such an obsession you were so wrapped up in it."

"It _**was**_ an obsession," he grinned wryly. "For years I went at it, every clue, every lead, every scrap of potential evidence, and at the end of it nothing. Not one single suspect. Nothing."

"You know, that night you told me about the pact you made with God, about giving up your chance to have a son if you could catch the killer, I really thought you'd lost it."

"I think Barbara thought the same. When I stopped sleeping with her, she asked me if I was having an affair. Jesus, I came this close to telling her about you."

If only you had, Peter, she thought sadly, but didn't say anything. He had stopped having sex with his wife back then, refusing to give her another child, and refusing to tell her why. So, rather than go home and face her questions, he would stay over with Carol, using the excuse that he was working long hours and that travelling back and forth was killing him. At that stage Carol thought he might have left Barbara, but he didn't, and when she went to Quantico and then on to her first assignment, he returned to his wife and his marriage, and over the years had repaired the damage he had done to it. She had come to realise that he would never leave his wife and kids and her life too had carried on.

The snow stopped and they left the coffee shop, walking in no particular direction. "It's getting like Christmas already," Peter remarked.

"I hate Christmas."

"Why?"

"Stupid question lover. Because I can't spend it with you, that's why."

He bit his lip, frowning. "I'm sorry."

She changed the subject quickly. "I'm thinking of going back to Quantico in the new year. Going back to VICAP."

"I thought you were happy in Oklahoma City?"

"It's okay, but I loved VICAP. I'd always planned to go back someday. Besides," she smiled at him. "There's a vacancy for A.D. coming up there next year."

"Go for it," he nodded. "I'm confident you'll walk it."

"Did you ever regret leaving the Bureau?" she asked, remembering when he had left.

Peter shook his head. "No. The Millennium Group was what I needed." It was everything I needed, he thought. They answered all my questions. They came to me at a time in my life when I was surrounded by an evil that was almost overwhelming. I needed to know why the world was like this? Why there were so many monsters out there? There had to be a reason. I looked for it. I believed that there was more, that there had to be more than merely what there was and I found it in the Millennium Group, or maybe they found it in me.

* * *

1989

He could barely hear them above the rushing torrent of water as they stood by the riverbank. Peter was nervous, apprehensive. After tonight there would be no going back. This was his future. This was who he was. They stood in a semi-circle around him, almost as though they were closing in on him, preventing him from escaping. His only escape would be into the water, but that direction lead only to death by drowning. Or he could remain on the riverbank and drown in his fear. Or he could survive. He swallowed hard as the Elder drew the knife from it's sheath, the cold blade glinting in the moonlight, the candles flickering in the slight breeze. Flickering, but refusing to die. Barely strong enough to cast their light on the people that stood around him as the circle closed in on him.

"The circle, Mr. Watts. The Oroborous," the Old Man had taught him when he had been given and had received enlightenment. "The ancient symbol of birth and death and re-birth. It is the symbol of the Millennium Group. This is who we are."

Peter knew the Old Man was watching, yet standing apart as always. His words echoed in his mind now, and as he had been earlier, he was once again filled with the sense of duty and horror and awe. The terrible beauty of what he had learned, what the Old Man had taught him, terrified him, yet it bound him. The knowledge, the responsibility, and the burden of that responsibility almost overwhelmed him. But the answers to the questions he had sought were now his and this knowledge, this secret that he would be honour-bound to keep for the rest of his life, nearly engulfed him and almost brought him to his knees, so frightening was the truth of it.

Peter's heart missed a beat as the Elder spoke, The voice was deep and solemn, like the moment. The Latin words adding to the solemnity of the occasion, **_"As the circle now closes, we stand here. We are born into this time. We live at this time and we will die at this time. As we did so before, at the beginning of the time and as we will do so again at the end of the time. This is who we are."_**

**"_This is who we are,"_** Peter responded, also in Latin.

**"_And some of those given understanding shall fall," _**the Elder seemed almost to be warning him. _"**Some shall be destroyed by the very power of the knowledge they have been given."**_

Not me, Peter thought. I'll be strong enough. Yet he could feel his own fear as the Elder took his outstretched hand. _**"This oath is taken. This vow is given. This moment of enlightenment and acceptance, this ceremony of the end of innocence is done now -" **_he quickly drew the blade across Peter's open palm. **_"To refine them, to purify them."_**

The Elder returned the blade to it's sheath and for a moment Peter could only stare at his hand. There was no pain. The numbing cold of the night saw to that. Then a thin ribbon of blood appeared across his hand, across his heart-line. He turned to the river and let his blood flow into the waters.

**"_I have been born at this time. I now live at this time," _**Peter spoke confidently. The Latin phrases beautiful in their meaning. **_"And I will remain true until the end of the time, because it is still the appointed time."_**

He watched as his blood ran into the river, joining with the earth, with the life force of the earth and returning to it. Completing the circle.

To Be Continued


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

1998

"The Millennium Group was what I needed," he said, and Carol frowned as she thought about this mysterious organisation he belonged to. They were very committed, he had told her. Very dedicated, he had told her. Very weird, she had thought. She imagined them full of secret rituals and initiation rites. Peter had met her about a week or so after he became a fully-fledged member and his whole demeanour during those few days had been weird. He would alternate from a state of near-depression to an almost drunken high, then becoming fearful, haunted even. When she would try to ask him what was wrong, he would only shake his head, and turned inward, away from her.

Just recently she had heard some real bad rumours about it. Nothing concrete, something about a split within its ranks and that some people had died because of that split. A very discreet investigation had been opened by the Bureau, though so far no evidence of anything had been obtained, and it was becoming obvious that they were going to be difficult to investigate, so secretive were they. She wondered if Peter knew anything about those deaths, or God forbid, had been involved in any way. From the little he had told her, she believed he was in real deep with them, to the point of being a high-ranking member. There were rumours that it was some sort of quasi-religious cult, and although Peter was not a church-going man, his faith was very personal, very important to him, and very strong. It was unorthodox in some ways, as though he, and the Group, knew of some terrible, or beautiful secret that must be kept from the world at all costs. But he refused to elaborate, despite her gentle curiosity and would merely tell her it was who he was and that was all she needed to know.

She had observed over the years that with regard to his faith, he was devout to the point of being almost fanatical; and lately more so, and she worried about this, because if one day his faith were to fail him, it could harm him badly.

"Tell me more about it," she inquired, her only motive his well-being.

"No. I can't." Peter replied gently, but firmly.

* * *

They found themselves back at the park they had visited the night before. She bought him lunch at a nearby restaurant and they returned to the town to check with the airport again.

"The runways are still closed, sir," the girl at information told him. "There is another snow storm expected in a few hours, so all flights remain grounded."

* * *

"Peter, try not to look so delighted," she joked as they returned to his room.

He laughed. "I'm sorry. The thought of another night with you just appeals to me….for some reason."

"What if we're stuck here for a week? For two weeks? We'll get cabin fever."

"Probably," he grinned.

"You'll not want to make love to me after a week."

"I'll be too exhausted to make love to you after a week!" he smoothed his moustache and grinned at her. "But I'll try."

* * *

The next day he decided they should make the most of the snow and he took her skiing. Carol had never done so before and her attempts to learn were hampered by a teacher who preferred instead to take every chance he had to hold her in his arms. She really didn't care if she never learned, just messing about with him was enough, she told him.

Neither of them had expected to have another night together and after a meal they returned to the hotel. This time their love-making was slow and relaxed. Afterwards Carol lay in his arms, content and happy. She was exhausted, and drifted somewhere between sleeping and wakefulness, as Peter held her, every now and then kissing her, and she savoured each precious second of her time with him, memorising each kiss, each touch, storing away the memories for the time when she would no longer be with him. She wasn't aware of it but Peter was doing the same, storing up his own memories of her that he would cherish.

"Kiss me there," she whispered, aroused again. "Yes, just there. Ahhh, that feels so good."

His tongue flicked over her clitoris and he felt the muscles tightening in her stomach and thighs. He continued his ministrations, feeling the force beginning to build in her. As she neared climax he moved his mouth to her breast again and his hand gently took over where his tongue had been. Moving relentlessly now, he brought on her orgasm, feeling her come against his fingers. She seemed to fold up around him, drawing up her legs tightly and her arms reached for him. He rolled her onto her side and put his arms round her, drawing her close, cradling her and could still feel the spasms coursing through her as he lay, unmoving beside her.

For an eternity they lay like that together. Peter kissed the back of her neck. As he held her tightly, he was thinking just how much she meant to him, already dreading tomorrow when they would have to say goodbye again and go their separate ways. An almost physical sensation of sadness and loss came over him and he closed his eyes and held her tighter than ever. I don't know if I can do this, he thought. I don't think I'll be able to say goodbye this time.

"What's wrong?" she asked, aware that there was something wrong.

"Nothing. Go to sleep."

* * *

1995

"Would you leave your wife for me?" she asked as she began to dress. They had to be at the airport in two hours time.

"Carol," he frowned. "Please don't ask me that. It's impossible. You know that."

"Why?" she persisted. "Other men do. What makes you so different?"

"Because I love her. Even though I'm here with you, I still love Barbara and I have three daughters that I love deeply. I won't leave them. I don't want to."

"If I was pregnant would you?"

"You can't be pregnant? Not by me anyway!"

"Of course I'm not," she snapped at him. "But, if had I been years ago, would you have done it then? Would you ever love me enough to spend all your time with me?"

Peter took a deep breath. "It's not a case of how much I love you. You know that," he watched her, saw the scowl on her face. "Why now? What's wrong? You were like this last evening too."

"Because it hurts, Peter. A few stolen nights every now and then. That's all I have and sometimes it's just not enough."

"You knew and accepted that when we started this, this….."

"This what? Affair? Fling? What exactly do we have Peter?"

"I was going to say relationship, or friendship, because that's what it is."

She laughed sarcastically. "What you perceive it to be, you mean," then turned away from him, throwing clothes into her hold-all. "You could have left your phone switched off last night."

"Is that what is bothering you? I forgot! She rang! I couldn't help it!"

"You didn't have to chat to her for over an hour."

"Carol," he frowned. "You know I love you, but if it's hurting you this much maybe we should end it now."

"Go to hell!" she yelled.

"Fine," he yelled back.

"Oh, fuck you!" she grabbed up her bag and slamming the door behind her went out to the car. She refused to speak another word to him and they drove to the airport in angry silence. They had gone their separate ways then, the anger and pain a thing that had remained in their hearts until they met again.

* * *

1998

They sat together in the airport bar. Her flight would be called in about twenty-five minutes. Peter bought her a drink and tried to say goodbye.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she lied. "Remember the last time. We weren't even speaking that day."

He reached for her hand under the table and squeezed it. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"No Peter. We agreed not to and it's better if we don't. It'll only hurt too much."

He could not let go of her hand. It was almost a lifeline for him. "Carol. I don't think I can do this. I can't let you just walk away."

"Shhh, please. Do you think I don't feel the same?"

Abruptly she got up and ran to the ladies room. She was gone about ten minutes and when she returned her eyes were red. He reached for her hand again when she sat down.

"I have to call you. I will call you. We can work something out, be together more often."

"Peter. If you leave her, you know where I'll be, but don't make promises you can't deliver."

"No, I won't. I just need time to work something out with Barbara and the girls." Some time, he thought. If we have that time, he thought. There was so little time left.

Her flight was called and she went to stand up, but he refused to let go of her hand, his lifeline. "A few more minutes, please….. "

"I love you Peter Watts," she smiled, her eyes a little too bright. "I'll always love you."

"I know. I feel the same," he took a deep breath. "Come on, I'll walk along with you." His arm was loosely around her waist, their appearance casual, their emotions far from it.

"I'll see you soon. After all, you promised to drop by and work on that murder enquiry," she touched his hand whispered in his ear. "Thank you for three beautiful nights."

Peter nodded, unable to speak. This was far worse than it had ever been, far worse than he ever expected it would be. She took a chance, for once not caring if they were seen and kissed him gently on the mouth.

"I love you," he whispered and she was gone, back to her home, her career, her own life.

He sat alone at the bar, lonelier than ever, until his own flight was called. Then he went home himself.

* * *

Two days later.

He dialled her home number and was about to hang up and try again later when she answered.

"I've missed you," he told her, smiling when he heard the delight in her voice. "I had to phone you."

"I know. I've missed you too. But I wish you could pick a better time. I have to go out in a few minutes. Call's just come in."

"I understand. I just wanted to hear your voice, talk to you for a few moments and tell you that I'm thinking about you."

"You're breaking the rules again Peter," Carol said. "We agreed not to make contact, you know that. Still, I'm glad you phoned, but I really have to go."

"Go. I'll try and call you tonight. There's something I want to talk to you about," he said.

"What?"

"Nothing serious. It'll keep until tonight," he said.

"I love you," she whispered. "Call me back tonight?"

"I will. I love you too. Be careful." He replaced the receiver. She had told him once that she would spend a few nights crying into her pillow, then she would get on with her life until she saw him again. He had felt so guilty when she told him that. He wanted her to find someone to give her the love he could not give, but she had replied that no one could ever give her more love than he had. Right now he didn't doubt that, if the loneliness he was feeling was anything to go by. But all that would change soon. He had spent the night before tossing and turning and had finally come to a decision. There was no way he could not be with her anymore.

* * *

The next evening.

"And the suspect?" he inquired, his voice casual, revealing nothing.

"He was killed at the scene sir," the officer replied. "One of the SWAT team marksmen got a head shot just after it happened."

"Thank you for informing me," Peter replaced the receiver and sat there staring at the computer screen but not seeing it. Not seeing anything other than the images, the memories. Not seeing Barbara slip into the room and stand beside him.

Miles away as usual, Barbara thought, smiling. Then she saw his face. The tears falling unchecked. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

But he merely shook his head, and reached out for her. She put her arms around his shoulders and he pulled her on to his knee and wept in a way she had only seen him do once before, years ago when he had quit the Bureau and joined the Millennium Group. It had been the day after he had finally been initiated into the Group. Back then he had never told her why, and she had never asked. But she did so now with fear in her heart.

"Peter, what is it honey? What's happened?"

He bit his lip and stared at her. No more lies, he thought. Tell her everything now and end my marriage but ease my conscience, or keep the secret I've kept so long and let her keep her peace of mind? He looked at her again, the wife he loved, despite his betrayal. I had an affair, he would say. It's been going on for years, he would say. It's over now. I'm sorry.

But instead he took a deep breath and slipped the mask back on again. He forced a smile and stroked her hair. "It's nothing," he answered. "Just something I was working on. Something disturbing. Don't worry `bout it."

Barbara pressed her forehead against his. "You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. More lies, he thought. "No. It concerns the Group. You know I can't talk about it," he changed the subject. "Where are the girls?"

She kissed him. "Oh, out somewhere. You know what they're like. We have the house to ourselves for the rest of the evening," she smiled at him, thinking of one or two ways she could cheer him up.

"I have to go away for a few days. I should be back Friday or Saturday."

* * *

Five days later.

"Frank?" he spoke quietly.

"Hello Peter. What's up?"

"Frank. I'm at the airport. Just got in. Can you do me a favour and meet me somewhere before I go home?"

"Yeah. Sure. What is it?"

"Nothing important," he closed his eyes. No, nothing important, just the end of my life. "I'll tell you when I see you."

Frank took another mouthful of beer and watched his friend. Peter's face was haggard and drawn. He was in a dark suit, his tie loosened. He looked so different from the man Frank knew. The cool, confident, sometimes callous, sometime zealous, soldier-of-God who believed in everything the Millennium Group told him. He was also well on his way to getting drunk. A state Frank had never seen him in, nor ever expected to see him in.

Peter finished the whisky and ordered another. His fifth on top of the three he had downed on the flight home.

"I had an affair Frank."

Frank's eyes widened in surprise, but he remained silent. This was definitely not the man he knew.

"I had an affair that lasted for twelve, no thirteen years. But it ended four days ago, and now I'm going home to tell Barbara," he grinned and raised his glass. "But I need a little Dutch courage first, before she throws me out, or shoots me."

"If it's over why tell Barbara?" Frank reasoned.

"Dunno. Just think I have to."

"To ease _**your **_conscience! To make _**you**_ feel better! Peter, weigh that up against who you'll hurt by your confession. Not just Barbara. Your girls as well."

"I know all that!" Peter raised his voice. "Do you think I haven't thought about it?"

"Yes. I think you haven't thought about it at all."

"Frank, I loved her so very much, for so long." Peter winced. The pain hit him again, so physical, so raw.

"Then how can you be sure it's over?"

"Oh it's over all right. I'm one hundred per cent sure of that."

"Why?"

"Because she died Frank. On Monday afternoon. Killed in a goddamm shoot-out. I phoned her that morning an` it was the last time, the very last time I ever spoke to her. I'd promised I would call her that evening and, y'know, I'd made up my mind that I was gonna to leave Barbara and be with her," he paused remembering the plans he had started making in his mind that morning. "I was gonna to tell her that evening an` she would have been so happy. It was what she wanted but only once, Frank, only once did she ever ask me to do it. We argued about it and she never asked me again, but y'know something Frank, I think I would have really done it this time."

His elbow slipped off the bar top and he spilled some of his drink. "I was gonna to tell her I wanted to be with her and was gonna leave Barbara. But, y'know something Frank, I didn't get the chance. She's dead now an` she never knew."

Peter closed his eyes as an image of Carol crept unbidden before him. Carol laughing with him, teasing him, loving him. He wiped his eyes as though trying to clear them of her image, which was now so unbearable. "I've just come back from her funeral."

He waved to the bartender, ordered another scotch and another beer for Frank who had hardly touched his first one.

"Peter I'm so sorry," Frank's voice held genuine sympathy. Whatever the rights and wrongs of this situation, Peter's grief was very real. "Who was she?"

"Carol Main, SAC, Oklahoma City Field Office. Used to be in VICAP."

Frank nodded. It had been on all the news programs on Tuesday, but he knew her name from his own time in the Bureau. Had even worked with her on a couple of occasions. He had admired her, and her dedication, and he knew she had been very well respected at VICAP. She would have gone far, would have made AD in a year or two, if not sooner. When he stopped and thought about it, he could understand how Peter had been attracted to her.

"How did you meet?" Frank asked. "When did you meet her?"

"Onondaga Lake, 1985" Peter responded. ""She was a cop there back then. I met her the day they fished the baby boy out of the water."

Oh good one, Peter! Frank thought. You turned to God. You practically took a vow of celibacy and refused to sleep with your wife. Then you hooked up with the first attractive woman you run into and spend your nights having sex with her! But he said nothing, merely watched his friend carefully. Peter Watts was a man walking on very thin ice right now. If he went home in this state, he would be stupid enough to tell Barbara everything, and Frank knew her well enough to know she would not be prepared to let Peter sit there crying on her shoulder over the death of a woman he'd had an affair with. He had to do something. Get Peter under control first, so he wouldn't run straight home and tell her. He liked and respected Barbara far too much to see her hurt in this way.

"I don't know how I'm going to carry on without her. I know it's a cliché, but Carol understood me, Frank. Really understood me. She knew all my secrets. Well, most of them," he closed his eyes tightly. "I miss her so much."

"And Barbara?" Frank asked.

Peter blinked. "What about Barbara?"

"Do you love her too?"

"Yes," Peter frowned. "You might think that it's not possible to love two women at the same time, but I did. And I still do."

"Then take my advice Peter, don't tell Barbara. You've managed to keep this from her for all these years, there's no reason why you can't do so from now on. I don't mean to sound callous, but it's a little bit pointless telling her now. I mean - "

"Yeah, I know what you mean and you're right, Frank, it's all pointless. All pointless," his shoulders slumped, the effects of more than just the alcohol taking their toll. He lifted the glass again, spilling some more of the contents. He peered into his glass. Yep, there was just enough left in it.

"To Carol," he toasted her memory and finished the drink. He was about to order another, but Frank waved the bartender away.

"Come on, Peter," Frank set his unfinished beer on the counter and helped his friend out to the car. "You can go to my place, have a coffee and stay there until you sober up a bit. And then you can tell me all about her. I think it's time I learned more about this very remarkable woman who finally turned you into a human being."

The end.

Mandi Sheridan

July 1998

Disclaimer: _Peter and Barbara Watts, Frank Black and Millennium are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and the Fox Broadcasting Company. This is a piece of fan fiction only and no profit will be made from it._


End file.
